


Let's Do 'Get Help'

by PepperF



Series: Diego whump [7]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, PHEW - Freeform, Whumptober 2020, and not emotional torment, back to breaking bones again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26876695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: Diego has three normal responses to physical injury: conceal-don't-feel, angry yelling, and unconsciousness. This is largely as a result of their shitty childhood, in Klaus's opinion, combined with the core Diego-ness of him and the methods he'd instinctively sought to protect himself from their father's cruelty. But, whatever the source, he doesn't think he's heard Diego outright whimper in pain since they were children.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: Diego whump [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951318
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Let's Do 'Get Help'

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Bethany for her beta-reading and comments and laughing at my title. :D

Diego has three normal responses to physical injury: conceal-don't-feel, angry yelling, and unconsciousness. This is largely as a result of their shitty childhood, in Klaus's opinion, combined with the core Diego-ness of him and the methods he'd instinctively sought to protect himself from their father's cruelty. But, whatever the source, he doesn't think he's heard Diego outright whimper in pain since they were children.

The fact that he recognizes the sound straight off, and the visceral feeling of anxiety/relief/guilt that it sends through him is also a result of their shitty childhood: anxiety because _oh no, Dad hates it when we get ourselves injured!_ ; relief because the one who's most in trouble when Diego gets injured is always Diego himself; and guilt because all that goes through his head before it even fully registers that Diego is hurt.

"Shit, what is it, are you okay, what's wrong?" Klaus makes up for it, as usual, with an overabundance of useless panic. Dad hated that, too.

His brother is on the ground, clutching at his arm. "I think it's broken," he gasps.

And then Klaus sees the jagged edge of bone poking through the skin, and nearly loses his lunch. "Oh, no...!" he moans. "'Broken', oh my god, I can _see the bone_ , that is _fucked up_ , Diego! Jesus."

Diego sways woozily, and Klaus reaches out to grab him, but can't pull him to his feet.

"Okay, shit, fuck... work with me, brother dearest. We've got to get out of here before they come around for another pass."

"Yeah, go, go—I'll be right behind you." This is less than convincing, given that Diego is as pale as he's ever been, and still flat on his ass on the ground.

"Uh huh," says Klaus, skeptically. He's going to have to be the mature one, but that's fine;, he's spent years watching other people do it so he should be able to fake it by now. First things first: get Diego up and moving. He wedges himself under Diego's good arm and wraps an arm around his ribs. "Come on, on three. One, two..."

Between them, they get Diego up onto rubbery legs, and stagger drunkenly across the rubble towards the nearest still-standing building, praying that they make it unseen.

"Just a few more yards," gasps Klaus, as Diego stumbles for the umpteenth time. His only answer is a groan. Finally, they skid to a stop behind the remains of a lobby wall and collapse. Klaus manages to control their descent so that Diego is on top, but his brother still cries out in pain, and then he goes limp, like a warm and somewhat stabby blanket. "Oh... great."

With some careful jostling—thankful that Diego is unconscious for this part—he manages to get them both closer into the wall, so they can't easily be seen. It's not _safety_ by any stretch of the imagination, but they're not in the middle of a battlefield, and at the moment he'll take what he can get.

Gritting his teeth, he looks over his brother's wounds, in particular that arm. It still makes him want to toss his cookies, and honestly he's not sure what he can do about it anyway. Wrapping it would probably hurt Diego more than leaving it untouched, and he doesn’t have anything hygienic to do it with anyway—no antiseptic or painkillers, nothing to use as a splint or bandages, not even a smiley-face band-aid. And what if he's supposed to—ugh—push the bone back into place first, or something? He has no idea. What he needs is a goddamn medic.

Klaus shudders. And then pulls himself together.

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay, Klaus, you can do this, first things first, we just need to—to..." He looks around, trying to figure out his next step. "Get help! Yes." Someone else to shoulder the responsibility—preferably Allison, who always acts like she knows what she's doing, whether or not it's true; or Luther, who doesn't, but is strong enough to carry Diego. Klaus has been responsible now for probably ten whole minutes and he is frankly exhausted.

He waits, and waits, and waits a little longer, but no one appears. 

Well, crap. Looks like it's all down to him, then.

"Right. _Fine._ I guess we're doing this. We can't stay here forever, so we have to go. So you, dear boy, need to be awake, because I'm not Luther and I don't bench press tractors for fun." He crouches beside Diego and slaps gently at his face until the man wakes with a gasp, staring wildly around until his gaze settles on Klaus.

"...Klaus? Hurts..." He reaches for his arm, but Klaus catches his hand just in time.

"Uh-uh, I really wouldn't do that if I were you," he chides. "Look, I know all you wanna do right now is pass out—and believe me, I understand—but we have to keep going, okay? We have to find our siblings, assuming they're alive. Which they absolutely will be," he adds hastily, when Diego's eyes widen in alarm. "And then we'll get you fixed up and all will be well. Okay?"

"...Okay," says Diego, confused but cooperative. He shifts to rise—and his whole face screws up in pain, and then starts to go slack again.

"Oh, no no no, no delicious unconsciousness for you!" He shakes Diego until his eyes flutter open again. "Good boy."

Diego groans, and then shakes his head, apparently making a Herculean effort to pull his scattered brain cells back together. "We need to go."

"Ding ding ding, a prize for Diego." He glances around. "I saw Luther and Vanya back towards where we parked, maybe half an hour ago. How about you?"

Diego's brow furrows with the effort of recalling. "Five," he says. "On the rooftop over...overlooking the cop shop. Don't know how long, uh...was just after we blew up the Walmart."

"Okay, good. That's more recent, but the little brat hops around like a flea, so I think we'll try mine first." He sighs, feeling like he's been at this for a million years. "We're going to have to move as fast as we can, okay?"

"Yeah. God," he groans. "It really fucking hurts, Klaus."

Klaus's fragile heart, which has been cracked a million times over by one or other of his siblings, breaks just a little bit more at this plaintive admission. "I know," he says. "I know. I'll find someone to help you as soon as I can, okay? I promise."

As gently as possible, he helps Diego up, and winces every time his brother can't hold back his sounds of agony. But, once upright, Diego wobbles slightly until he's found his footing, and then claps Klaus heavily on the shoulder, looking him in the eyes. "You are helping me," he says, firmly. "Never think differently. Okay?"

"Okay."

" _Okay?_ "

"Okay! Jesus, you picked a funny fucking time for a pep talk," grumbles Klaus. He loops his arm around Diego's waist again, and they set off through the rubble. "Are you gonna pass out on me again?"

"Oh, for sure."

"Next time you do, I'm leaving your ass behind and getting myself to safety."

"Sure you are, Klaus. Sure you are."


End file.
